Inseparable
by aTasteofCaramell
Summary: People think that Hikaru and I are identical twins. That isn't true; we're conjoined. One of us can't exist without the other. Not without dire consequences. I hope we never find out what those consequences are. (Kidnapping, conspiracy, intense angst, and copious brother feels contained within...there may even be a murder involved.)
1. Hollywood Stars and Cowboy Stories

**A/N: I've read some of the manga (plan to read it all when I can find the time), but the majority of my OHSHC knowledge comes from the anime. Also, in my personal Hitachiin headcanon, the Hitachiin parents majorly, majorly suck. ALSO I'm only pretending to know anything about Japanese culture, so if you have any corrections to make please let me know. :)  
**

* * *

"You're doing _what_?" All four expressed their surprise in varying degrees of passion, but as per usual, Tamaki was the most dramatic, while Kasanoda (the "Misunderstood" type – he'd joined after the graduation of Mori and Honey) merely raised his eyebrows.

"We're going to America for a week," we said.

"But – next week – that's the spring dance!" Tamaki protested. "You'll miss it! The last dance sponsored by the Host Club, with me as King-"

Hikaru slung his arm over my shoulder. "Sorry, Boss, but what Dad says goes."

"Yeah," I chimed in, "With us getting older, we have to start thinking about taking over the company."

"But surely you can stay, Kaoru?" Tamaki pleaded. "Hikaru's the eldest, he's the heir, so you can stay, right?"

This was true, but we didn't want to admit it.

"Well—" Hikaru started.

"You see—" I mumbled. We glanced at each other in panic.

Haruhi saved us. "Give them a break, Senpei. I'm sure they'd love to stay—" with a sideways glance at us, "But they have to obey their father. The company is really important to them."

We beamed at her. Nothing could be further from the truth (except the part about our father), but the words from her mouth were a gold standard of truth and wisdom to Tamaki. He sighed, shoulders slouching. Then he straightened, eyes flashing, and stabbed a finger at us.

"Very well! But I expect tales of adventure and charming souvenirs to be presented when you return!" He rubbed his chin, wheels turning. "I know! We will have an America-themed party, and you two can regale us with your exploits in the wild land of the West, with buffalo and cowboys and Yankees—you must be sure to recount in detail your interactions with Hollywood stars—"

We stepped outside where our limo waited, the afternoon of our flight out, in conversation with Haruhi.

"D'you think the Boss actually expects cowboy stories?" Hikaru mused.

"This is Tamaki we're talking about," said Haruhi. "It would be dangerous to assume otherwise."

I snorted. "Yeah, there will be loads of them in between the diamonds and champagne."

"Didn't you know, Kaoru?" Hikaru giggled. "It's an American custom to hold rodeos in after the main course and before desert."

I smirked. "Right, and the coffee is freedom-flavored,"

"Complete with red-white-and-blue suits and dresses covered with stars and stripes!"

We burst out laughing. Even Haruhi smiled.

"You guys," she said, exasperated.

The chauffer began to look impatient. "Seriously though," she turned to smile at Hikaru. "You guys have fun."

"We'll try," Hikaru stuffed his hands in his pockets and scuffed the sidewalk. "Bound to be loads of boring board meetings, though. Wish you could come."

"You're hilarious. I'm behind enough in studying as it is." Haruhi glanced over her shoulder. "You'd better go. Your driver looks ready to murder us."

"Yeah. Um," Hikaru took his hands out of his pockets, put them back in, took them back out, started to spread his arms, and then stuck out his hand stiffly. Haruhi knocked his hand aside and gave him a full, if fast, frontal hug then she turned to me.

"Oh, no," I said, grinning, and waved. The ache that came from seeing the two of them together was so constant I hardly even noticed it anymore. She grinned back.

"See you in a week, Kaoru. Hikaru." She turned and walked briskly off. Hikaru watched her go.

I waited a few seconds, then made my voice high-pitched and simpering, "I wish _you_ could come. That would _so_ lighten up the board meetings."

"Shut up," Hikaru smirked, his face flushed. I punched his shoulder as we climbed into the backseat, and he grabbed me in a headlock.

"Kaoru, these people are going to kill me, if the jetlag doesn't do it first!" Hikaru flopped eagle-spread, pale and sweating, onto the wide leather couch in his hotel suite. Barely three hours after landing in LA, we had just endured our first kiss-ass session with important representatives of other companies, and it had been a bloodbath. "That McGinney woman," he continued. "Worst Japanese I've ever heard in my life – would have understood her better in English—who do they think I am, their apprentice?—nonstop questions—judging my every move—"

I let him rant. Being the heir, he had endured much more scrutiny than me. He had been swept away the instant we were shoved into the room, bleary-eyed from lack of sleep and confused by the sudden bursts of English. I waited for him to pause for breath, lounging on the arm of the couch next to his head.

"Did you see that man with the blond thinning hair and big glasses?" I interjected.

"No, who?"

"He was the merger rep."

Hikaru's eyes went wide. The man's reputation had reached us through our father: critical of everything Japanese and everything Hitachiin, despite the fact that he wanted to merge with us. Overpowering, rude, and worth too much money to be told off.

"Thank god he didn't find me!" Hikaru moaned, eyes sliding shut. "Maybe I can face him, but not today, not now, not before sleep…" He opened one again. "Did you talk to him?"

"For over an hour," I said. "I think he got us mixed up." I just barely escaped utter annihilation, running away on wobbly knees when his secretary brought him an important (and private) piece of news, feeling like my brain and my body had been put through a wringer, and I had come out all wrinkly.

"You let him think you were me?"

I nodded.

Hikaru hefted himself partway up and threw his arms around my waist, burying his face in my lap. "Bless you, brother mine." He choked out, voice muffled. "Bless you. May the rain refuse to fall on you whenever you step outside, may beautiful women shower you with chocolates on White Day, and may you get 100s on all of your exams for the rest of eternity for the great service you have done me."

I patted his mussed hair. "Well, you were dealing with McGinney. Didn't want to subject you to a double frontal assault. And don't forget you'll have to face him sometime this week. Tomorrow, probably."

Hikaru groaned, his face sliding from my lap to the couch cushions where it landed with a plop. He lay there, face down, as limp as a dead fish. "Wernt ternow thewerr tang?"

"What?"

"Aih sheg wernt ternow tehwerr tang?"

I grabbed a handful of his hair and pulled his face out of the cushion.

"Ow!" Hikaru lurched upwards, holding is scalp and glaring at me.

"What?" I repeated.

"The worst thing was how patronizing they all were. Oh, here's poor little Hikaru Hitachiin, doesn't know a thing about business does he, all set to be in over his head—and I don't even want to take over the company. Fashion clothing lines? I'll wear it, don't care about selling it." Hikaru sighed. "Sometimes I wish you were the oldest, Kaoru."

I "hmm"ed non-commitally. We'd had this conversation before. Hikaru detested anything to do with money unless it was spending it. He wanted fun and adventure. I liked fun and adventure too, and running the Hitachiin clothing line was not at the top of my coveted career list, but I didn't see why you couldn't have that and run a business at the same time, if you had to.

"I have worse," I said, returning to the dinner party conversation. "I lost count of how many women asked if we were single."

Hikaru stared at me. "They asked _what_?"

"Asked if we were single. All age ranges. Late twenties, late forties-"

"WHY?" Hikaru spluttered. "First of all, why do they care? Second of all, it's none of their business. Third of all, we're sixteen, who _cares_?"

"I dunno, either they're creepy or they have daughters, I guess."

Hikaru muttered to himself for a while longer before shooting me a sharp glance. "What did you tell them?"

"About what?"

"About us being single."

"Actually, they mostly asked about you. Unless they thought I was you."

Hikaru yelped.

"Anyways, I made clever witticisms about how you're too busy preparing for the real world to be bothered with romantic affiliations at this point in time."

There was a long silence. Hikaru picked up a throw pillow and picked at it. Finally, he muttered, "Why'd you tell them that for?"

I shrugged. "It was more diplomatic than 'yes he's single but not for your daughter – you're asking for your daughter, right, you creep?' and 'what the hell, eff off.'"

Another few stretches of awkward silence. "I mean, why'd you tell them I was single?"

I didn't answer right away. Hikaru was already stressed, and exhausted, and not in a good mood. I didn't want to upset the balance of his nerves and emotions any more than it was already. At last I carefully said, "Do you mean, it would have made them leave you alone if I told them you are in a relationship, or do you mean you're not single?"

Hikaru mumbled something inaudible.

Fed up with his idiocy, I rashly said, "If you're referring to Haruhi, you are not in a relationship with her." Hikaru's lips tightened and his face grew an angry red. I continued. "No, awkward glances and quick hugs do not count as a relationship, and if you want to be in one with her, get a move on and ask her out already."

"We already went out!" Hikaru glared at the throw pillow.

"Hikaru, that was _my_ date. And that was ages ago. I'd hoped you'd get the hint and ask her out without my help from then on."

Hikaru stiffened. Oops. "You set us _up_?" his voice rose.

I gritted my teeth. "Yes. You're _welcome_. Now why don't you ask her out for real? It's obvious to everyone you like each other."

Hikaru was now unraveling a thread in the pillow, yanking at it with vehemence. "How do _you_ know?"

I stood up, anger and frustration boiling inside me. "Are you serious? The date, for starters."

"But like you just said, that was _your_ date," Hikaru burst out. "Your date, not mine. And was a self-centered jerk the entire time. And-" he threw the throw pillow away and looked at me. "You like her too, Kaoru, I know you do."

What? He knew?

Stupid, I guess, so assume that my twin wouldn't pick up on it, even though I'd been so careful to hide it. I stuck my hands in my pockets.

"Sure. But not like you do. And besides, she likes you, not me."

"How do you _know_?" His voice was still angry, but the emphasis in the question had changed. He was really asking me now. How did I know? Some of my frustration evaporated.

"She treats you differently. When it's just her and me, we're just casual friends, and it's usually only a few seconds before other people join the conversation. But when you and her are talking it's completely different. You're in your own world. It's harder for people to interrupt. She laughs more when she's with you. She gets more – I don't know – excited about things around you. And she knows you like her. She almost kissed your cheek on our birthday last year, remember? After Tono gave us our watches?"

Hikaru rubbed his cheek and looked at the ground. "Well – then – why doesn't she say something?" I got the distinct feeling that he was searching for excuses now. "Haruhi doesn't care about gender roles. Why doesn't she ask me out if she likes me?"

I thought for a moment, then, as nothing else had worked, I decided to let him have it. "She doesn't care about gender roles. She just doesn't want to date a coward."

Hikaru's gaze shot to my face again. " _What_?"

"She's waiting to see if you care enough about her to be brave enough to admit your feelings. You even deny them to me when I already know better than anyone how you feel, and when we both know more about each other than most people know about their spouses." I walked over to where the pillow had landed and picked it up. "So man up and ask her out." I threw it at his face. Hikaru flailed and caught it.

The timing was impeccable. Hikaru's cell phone rang. He picked it up and stared at the number for several moments, then his gaze flickered between me and the screen. He turned his back, tucked his knees against his chest, and answered it. "Hey, Haruhi."

I left to get ready for bed. When I returned, Hikaru was hanging upside-down off the back of the couch, legs hooked over the edge. Only his calves and bare feet were visible.

"I know," he said, laughing. I could faintly hear Haruhi's voice, though I couldn't decipher what she was saying. "Just watch the headlines, 'Prominent businessman's son is packed away to the loony bin – World in fear of World War III – complete llama and iceberg recall!"

Haruhi was laughing. Typical Hikaru conversation – you would never understand what it was about if you only heard the tail end.

I was usually there from the beginning.

I swallowed.

Haruhi said something else, and Hikaru said in a more resigned tone, "Unngh, okay. Tell the Boss we'll try to get some cultural flavor tomorrow. Uh-huh." A long pause. Haruhi started to say something the same time Hikaru said, "Hey, Haruhi?"

A long awkward pause. Hikaru's toes clenched, and he forced out, rapid-fire, "WhenwegetbackdoyouwannagoonadatewithmewecouldeatdinnerorsomethingbutonlyifyouwanttoIthoughtitmightbefun."

Triumph and grief mingled together in my stomach. Another pause, in which Hikaru's toes clenched even tighter. Haruhi spoke, and even if I couldn't tell by her tone, I could tell by the relaxation of Hikaru's toes and the subtle sigh of relief after they said goodbye and hung up that she had said yes.

Hikaru's feet disappeared behind the couch and he emerged, starting when he saw me standing by the door. "How long have you been there?" he demanded.

I raised my hands. "Calm down, I've only been here like two seconds," I lied. "Was that still Haruhi?"

He avoided my eyes. "Yeah. Hey, listen, I'm working on an escape plan."

I grinned. "Great. Escape plan. Where are we escaping to?"

"Some sort of festival going on in town," Hikaru said. "Just looked it up online. I'll let you know the details when I've got them. We might even get lucky and miss a reception or two."

"Right, you do that. I'm going to bed now. G'night."

"G'night," he responded, heading towards his bedroom as I went back out the door. The last thing I heard him say before I closed it was, "Big fancy hotel with suites with kitchenettes and everything, you'd think they'd have decently-sized beds."


	2. If We Don't Both go

I glanced sideways at Hikaru as we stood stiffly just outside the door. On the other side lay the dragons, and we were the dragon-tamers. A slight sheen of sweat shone on my brother's pale face. He licked his lips, setting them in a grim line. For all of his bluster about not caring about the company, he definitely did not want to be the one to topple under the pressure. He looked at me. Nodded. We took a deep breath, the butler opened the door, and we took the plunge.

"Ahhh," bright flashes of diamonds burned our retinas as a tall, stately woman in what looked like two-foot heels pounced on us just inside the doorway. "The Hitachiin brothers, it's _so_ good to finally meet you, I am close friends with your father, I run the West branch of the line—"

The butler cleared his throat, unable to close the door, as we were still standing in the doorway, but the lady didn't move. Hikaru and I squeezed past her, to the side, and she followed us, keeping us cornered against a table. The butler closed the doors and disappeared.

"—especially you, Hikaru, love. How are you?"

We were pressed up against the table, mirroring each others' stance automatically. Our hands gripped the edge as we leaned back ever so slightly, all but sitting on the expensive china-ware. "We're doing excellently, thank you, Madame," we chorused.

Her flashy smile faltered a bit. She tried again. "Hikaru, your father tells me you are shaping up to graduate at the top of the class, is that true?"

"Wellll," we said thoughtfully. "We do have a brilliant classmate."

"He's an honors student," Hikaru said.

"Got into Ouran on his wits alone," I said.

"Perfect grades year-round," Hikaru said.

"He's a commoner, see, and is such a genius he got a full scholarship," I said.

"So we're not quite the top of the class," Hikaru said.

"But we're giving him a run for his money," we finished together. This was another outright lie. We weren't stupid, and we didn't get bad grades, but we were nowhere near the top of the class, and there was no way we were overtaking Haruhi. (Though, it did help to have a twin brother who complemented your own strengths. With all of the copying off of each other's homework we did, we were much better at many more subjects than we would be separately.)

The woman looked exasperated, her smile becoming even more plastic, eyes darting back and forth between us, looking for a sign. We smiled innocently at her. Last night had been a mistake. We'd let the people know which one of us was Hikaru, and so they were able to siphon him off and display him like a trophy and interrogate him like a prisoner. Not today.

Other VIPs realized we had entered, and soon the crowd forced us away from the table so they could get at us from all angles. In the center of the room, in deep conversations with more somber adults, stood our father. Our mother was flitting from person to person, her laugh carrying even to where we stood. Hikaru was right, I realized; there were an odd number of security guards everywhere.

"Such good English, I'm very impressed," purred a Canadian representative. "Tell me, do you study French as well?"

" _Mais bien sûr, Madame_ ," Hikaru purred right back. I had a slight panic attack. Hikaru soaked up languages like a sponge; I sputtered through them like a drowning kitten. (Sure, he would fail Foreign Language without my help, but only because he preferred to speak aloud it rather than worry about grammar and spelling on paper.) If Hikaru started spouting French, they would be able to tell us apart. I frantically searched my brain for French phrases.

An idea struck me. I made a show of nudging Hikaru's shoulder and chiding, " _Non_ , Mademoiselle," and gave the woman a sly smile. Perfect. It matched the flirtatious atmosphere, sounded French, and required no actual knowledge of vocabulary or grammar. My smile faltered when I glanced across the room again and saw our father looking at us.

The woman, who must have been at least 50, beamed and laughed. "You naughty things, you. You flatter me." She winked and turned to receive a new glass of champagne.

Hikaru and I glanced at each other. We were both smiling, but mocking disgust reflected off of each others' eyes.

Our ass-kissing continued, bolstered by the fact that everything we said was a bald-faced lie. Every time we laughed, we communicated. We were laughing for the sake of each other. It was a secret code. It was basically telepathy.

We were good at telepathy.

 _Can you_ believe _these idiots, Kaoru?_

 _Oh yes, Hikaru. Yes I can._

 _Who would have thought the Host Club would actually be excellent practice for the real world?_

 _I can't wait to get out of here._

 _You and me both._

 _Good lord, was that a man or a woman?_

 _Pretty sure it was a woman. It had a purse._

 _What about that one?_

 _I think it's a man._

 _Save us._

"Our father must be so fortunate to have you."

"I love your necklace, are all American women this fashionable?"

"Truly? You are the vice-president? That's amazing."

"Oh yes, we wish we could converse more often."

"Do tell the secret of your success, won't you?"

"We are so eager to join in the decision-making as soon as we are ready."

"No, not at all. Computer programming and fashion design go together quite well, actually, in a corporation like this."

A man with a protruding gut took his opportunity to elbow his way into the conversation. "Tell me, Hikaru, what are your university plans? Will you be coming to our high-end school? The opportunities would be endless."

"Er…" We said. Hikaru's silent cry for help crashed against me like a wave. I scanned the stranger's face and matched it to the guest list.

I put on my most winning smile. "You must be Professor Drake," I said. Hikaru's fingers brushed mine in thanks.

He didn't smile back. "That's right. We can offer some hefty benefits to you boys."

"Really? How fascinating," Hikaru said.

"Yes, we would love to hear about it," I said.

"We haven't yet decided on a university," Hikaru said.

"But we would appreciate and value your insight," I said.

The sarcasm was so thick you could have drowned in it. You could have carved it out of the air with a spoon. You could have chiseled a statue.

Either the professor didn't notice, or he didn't care, and he launched into a pitch, speaking so fast that the English became an indecipherable blur. Some minutes later, I slung my arm over Hikaru's shoulder and glanced at him. His eyes were becoming glazed.

"Hikaru and Kaoru," a booming voice interrupted us. We turned around, my arm slipping off of Hikaru's shoulder. There stood the merger representative, Mr. Domenic Grennich, built like a 60-year-old lineman, chin stuck out. He thrust his hand at us, crushing our palms in his grip.

"I only got the chance to meet one of you last night," he said. "Which one of you is which?"

We froze. The others around us looked surprised, and relieved. No one had dared to ask the embarrassing question, but everybody wanted to know the answer.

"What do you mean, can't you tell?" We chorused. It was a dumb response, one that we usually reserved for other high school students, and made us sound extremely childish. We inwardly winced.

"You may have forgotten, but you are identical twins," Grennich said dryly. "And if you think I'm going to engage in a guessing game just to gratify you, you have something else coming. You are only sixteen, however, and for that I will give your juvenile attempts to confound me a pass."

We blinked. I recovered first. "We wouldn't dream of attempting to confuse you, Mr. Grennich," I said. "I apologize if it seemed that way."

 _Get a load of this, Hikaru._

 _Pompous, condescending, rude…_

 _All of that and more._

"Yeah," Hikaru found his footing again. "We've just been conversing with these _lovely_ people for so long we assumed that everybody knew by now."

 _As lovely as the dog turd on the tarmac at the airport._

"Yes," I concurred, smiling to the people around us, some of whom were beginning to wander off, apparently driven away by Grennich's overwhelming presence. "Everyone has made us feel very welcome and at home, we quite forgot they don't know us well enough to tell us apart."

 _At home like a dog kennel, to go with the dog turd._

 _Wait, are we the dogs, or are they?_

 _Good question._

"Indeed," Grennich raised his eyebrows. "So who are you?" He pointed at Hikaru.

Hikaru linked his arm with mine. I pointed at myself, Hikaru pointed at himself, and we spoke in unison.

"I'm Kaoru and this is Hikaru."

"I'm Hikaru and this is Kaoru."

Our voices blended together, hopefully preventing him from actually hearing.

Grennich's eyes glinted. "Right then." He put an arm across HIkaru's shoulders and pulled him away, turning their backs to me. "Hikaru. So, tell me more about these university plans of yours."

 _Damn._

I tried to listen in on their conversation, but only got snatches of words, and glimpses of an increasingly peeved expression on Hikaru's face.

Hours later, we finally escaped to Hikaru's room (dogged by the security) and locked the door.

"I can't take this, Kaoru," Hikaru panted, his face flushed. He tugged violently on his tie, unraveling it and throwing it to the floor. His vest followed, then his shirt, and he sagged to the couch half-naked and sweating again.

"Are you having a nervous breakdown?" I asked, with genuine concern that this might be the case.

"I don't know," Hikaru moaned.

I sat beside him, removing my own tie, more slowly. "So what did Grennich ask you about?"

"Ermaughemphh," Hikaru rubbed his face. "Don't remember half of it. He kept harping on the university question, though. He must have stock in the system or something."

"At least he didn't ask you if you were single."

Hikaru snorted. "I dunno, I think I might prefer pointless gossip. It's easier to deflect. Anyways, he kept suggesting places, pressuring me on what I was going to study, when I was going to take over the company, yada yada yada. I kept saying we didn't know yet, and then I started making up answers, saying we would probably go to a good business school, major in economics and entrepreneurship or whatever, and then he started acting all condescending again and saying he was surprised we were going to go to the same place, the company would need diversity, and it needed one CEO not two, etc, etc."

I removed my vest and folded it, not meeting Hikaru's eyes.

"I mean, what kind of statement is that? Did he think that after high school we would magically drift apart? Does he not believe in teamwork, or what?" I didn't answer. "Kaoru?"

"Huh?"

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong." I carefully weighed my next words. "Do you…do you think we'll go to the same university?"

"Well, I don't see why we wouldn't. Once we find the best business school, it just makes sense for us both to go, doesn't it?"

"What if we don't both go to business school?"

A long, gaping, silence. I dared to look at Hikaru. He was staring at me.

"You don't—" he started, then stopped, then started. "You don't want to go to business school?"

"Well," I rubbed my neck, staring at Hikaru's collarbone rather than his eyes. Specifically, at the birthmark just below his left collarbone. I had the same one on my own chest. "I don't think Father will make me."

HIkaru sat tense and still. His voice came out rather high-pitched. "You want to move away? You want to _leave_?"

Tension stretched taunt. My voice, sounding tiny to my ears, plucked at it weakly like a guitar pick. "I don't—I don't know what I want—I just thought—"

"You thought you'd leave. You thought you'd skip out on me, the business, the whole mess."

Blood rushed to my face. Guilt was a blush. "No, not like that, I want to—"

"Well fine, then, Kaoru. Leave, if you don't want to be here. Hell, just hop on an airplane tomorrow, why don't you? I'll deal with these bastards, no problem. I mean, I'll only be forced to deal with them the rest of my life. Alone. What's the problem with that?" Hikaru got to his feet.

"Hikaru—"

"Save it, Kaoru." Hikaru went into the bedroom and slammed the door. I slumped into the couch and covered my face.

My fingers were cold.


	3. The Hitachiin Mirror-Image (is marred)

Hikaru paced his bedroom, trying to quell the panic blossoming in his chest. The only problem was, when he managed to get it down, it turned into raging anger.

Hikaru tugged on a lock of his hair, spun on his heel, kicked the base of the bed, picked up a wicket stool and threw it against the wall. It bounced off with very little force. Hikaru glowered at it. Then he shivered. The sweat dried cold on his skin. He sank down on the bed and stared at the ground. His bare toes curled against the carpet.

Kaoru doesn't want to stay.

His stomach hurt.

Of course he doesn't, who would want to stay here?

But…

Who are you kidding? Kaoru, Haruhi, the Host Club, we all have to split up sometime. We're not going to be at Ouran forever.

But not Kaoru.

Not Kaoru.

Hikaru tried to imagine it, this life, these people, his insufferable parents, condensation, the flashy magazine covers, the drab reality—by himself.

His breath caught. He shook his head, ran his fingers through his hair, and stood up.

"No," he said out loud to his reflection in the shiny panels of the closet door. "No, I'm not doing this to him. He's my brother. He's my little brother."

A little voice in the back of his mind poked at him. There's Haruhi, too. She might not go anywhere if you—

Hikaru pushed that thought away (it was too nerve-wracking) as he pushed open the bedroom door again. Kaoru was still there. He'd drawn his knees up, hugging them to his chest, his body curled away from the door. Hikaru padded towards him on bare feet.

"Hey, Kaoru?"

Hikaru could only see a small portion of Kaoru's face, but the twins had long eyelashes, and he saw them flutter as Kaoru blinked.

Hikaru lowered himself onto the couch beside his brother and snaked his arms around Kaoru's waist. "Kaaaaoo-chan," he crooned in a voice normally reserved for host club activities, putting his chin on Kaoru's shoulder. Kaoru gave a shuddering sigh. He wasn't playing along. "Come on, Kao-chan, don't be like that—"

In a deadpan voice, Kaoru interrupted. "Hikaru, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have—"

Hikaru dropped the charade, though he kept his arms and chin where they were. "No, Kaoru, I'm sorry."

"Of course I want to come to the same university, I only meant—"

"No you don't."

"Hikaru—"

"Shut up. I'm sorry. You're right. If you want out of this hell-hole, good for you. I want you out of it too. That's what we've been planning since we were fetuses, right? One of us has to stay. One of us doesn't have a choice, but you do, and you should take it."

"I—"

"Sure, maybe you don't know if you want to go to a different university or not. The point is if you get the chance, I want you to take it."

Hikaru held his breath, heart pounding. Kaoru could probably feel it.

Kaoru relaxed. "Okay."

And with that single word, the dread disappeared, replaced by a sharp ache. Hikaru swallowed, hard, closed his eyes, and through the painful panic whirling through his head again, he kept reminding himself, This is Kaoru. Do it for Kaoru. Let him out. Let him out.

It might kill him in the process, but then at least Kaoru would be happy. Hikaru tightened his hold.

A harsh knock came on the door. The twins turned their heads in unison.

"I swear, if they say 'room service'…" Hikaru muttered.

"Master Hikaru," came a bored voice. The knocking continued. Hikaru groaned. Kaoru sat up, unlocking their embrace and Hikaru stumped to the door, irritated, and swung it open.

"Yeah, what?"

It was a member of the security team. The Hitachiin Corporation symbol was stitched onto his right shoulder. He glanced at Hikaru up and down, and Hikaru remembered the only article of clothing he currently wore was pants. He was about to quip, 'My eyes are up here,' but the security guard finished scrutinizing him, glanced over his shoulder at Kaoru, and said, "Lord Hitachiin is waiting for you in his suite. For Hikaru, that is."

Hikaru stiffened. "What for? I was about to go to bed."

"Then I suggest you get dressed. I will wait here."

Hikaru slammed the door in his face. "Damn. Now what?" He turned around. Kaoru began to lace up his shoes.

Psychological chill hit the twins like a wave as they entered the suite. Both of their parents were there, but their mother was reading a novel next to an electric fire, and only their father stood to greet them.

Though, he didn't exactly greet them. Just stood there, glowering, and then growled, "Well?"

"Well what?" the twins said in unison.

"Will you tell me what that performance was this evening?"

Hikaru frowned. "Sir?"

"Your behavior. Despicable. Don't think I wasn't watching. Your ridiculous determination to make our trusted clients and partners feel like fools. Your childish flirting and flattery. Unprofessional, unacceptable, disgraceful to the Hitachiin name."

Hikaru stiffened.

"You are a reflection of me, remember that? You are a reflection of your mother. You are a reflection of the name of Hitachiin, of our brand of clothing and software, of our hard work, of everything we have built, and you intentionally mar it!"

Shock rooted Hikaru him to the ground. "Sir—" he ventured. "That wasn't—I didn't mean—we were trying—I was trying to—"

"Be quiet. I'm not finished. Hikaru?" He pointed at Hikaru's face. Hikaru nodded, too stunned to feel the usual prickling irritation. "Don't think for one moment that I haven't heard of your escapades at the school, either. Shame on you, hiding behind your brother, refusing to take on the role assigned to you. Shame." Hitachiin's finger fell. "So this is an order. Stop. Stop. Step apart. Take on some individuality, for god's sake. Stop this devilish, infantile, carefree play-acting. You may only be a devilish, infantile, mouthing-off adolescent, but you are my son and by god you are going to act like it, and if I have to tear you away from Kaoru, that is what I'm going to do." He glared at Kaoru. "You aren't even supposed to be here. It's absurd. I summoned Hikaru, not you. I've made up my mind. Hikaru, come to the forefront of these meetings. Stop the slouching. Square your shoulders. Drop the smile, drop the flirting, act like a man. I should have left you in Japan, Kaoru, but what's done is done. Stay away from Hikaru. Stay in the background, or I'll send you right back to Japan, or even lock you in separate rooms if I have to."

Anger awoke inside of Hikaru. It thrummed through his blood. "I'm afraid you're too late, Father," he said coolly. Hitachiin glared at him.

"What are you talking about, boy?"

"Kaoru has already decided to go to a different university and escape this family. So if you want to control how I act, you're going to have to find a different threat."

Hitachiin's jawline clenched. Hikaru didn't care.

"In fact, I've volunteered to help him escape you. He's not the heir; you have no hold over him. He'll turn twenty in a few short years, and he'll be gone. He could decide to leave before that, become a legal adult in another country. And you can't do anything about it, can you?"

Hikaru stopped talking, not because he'd run out of things to stay, not because his anger left, but because Kaoru's fingers touched the back of his hand. The brush was so light, so soft, and so brief, that if it were anyone but Kaoru, Hikaru would have assumed it was an accident.

"Hikaru," Kaoru said, as softly as his fingers. Hikaru shut his mouth.

Hitachiin was silent. Blood crept up his neck. He took one step forward, and then another. He stared into Hikaru's eyes, the gaze fierce and strong. Hikaru wavered. His stomach twisted. His gaze dropped.

Smack.

Hikaru reeled, felt a burning sting in his right cheek, heard Kaoru's gasp, and then felt a throbbing pain. He stumbled.

Smack.

Harder this time. The blow reverberated through his nose. He lost his balance, cold fear flooding his limbs as he backpedaled. His ankle hit something hard and he fell. Hitachiin advanced. Hikaru jerked up one arm as a shield.

"Dear," his mother's voice rang softly in the deathly silence. Hikaru looked up through watering eyes, hoping beyond hope that she was interfering. Hitachiin turned to look at his wife. Kaoru dropped to his knees and grabbed HIkaru's upraised arm. Hikaru sat up, holding his cheek. "I simply can't decide about the Canadian line," his mother said mildly. "Should I press her about their annual reports tomorrow?"

Kaoru's breathing was loud. His hand tightened on Hikaru's arm. He hauled him to his feet, and they took several steps backwards.

"Whatever you think best, Yuzuha." Their father turned around again. Hikaru flinched. Kaoru's grip moved from his arm to his hand and held on tight.

Their mother may not have been interfering on Hikaru's behalf, but the interruption seemed to have changed Hitachiin's mind regardless. His gaze flickered downwards, and then he looked at Kaoru. "Let go of him." Kaoru's hand slipped out of Hikaru's. "I'll send my personal makeup artist to your room tomorrow. Dismissed."

They left, all but running, not speaking, not even looking at each other until they reached Hikaru's suite and locked the door.

"He hit you!" Kaoru burst out. "He hit you!"

"Yeah, I noticed." Hikaru gave a mocking smile that turned into a grimace. Kaoru dragged him across the room and forced him into a wooden chair. His hand touched Hikaru's face. "Kaoru, I'm fine."

"I'll get some ice." Kaoru was already halfway to the kitchen. Hikaru sighed. Kaoru returned, ice wrapped in plastic bags. He leaned over Hikaru, gently grabbing his chin and turning his face to the side. He brushed the area with his fingers. "It's bruising already." He pressed the ice to Hikaru's cheekbone.

"Well, at least it was a backhand. I don't think I'd ever live it down if he'd bitch-slapped me."

"Hold still."

"Ow. C'mon, Kaoru, I'm supposed to be the pitcher, remember?"

"This isn't funny, Hikaru!"

Hikaru grabbed the icepack and pressed it to his face. Kaoru let go, stepping back, but he didn't sit down. He turned his back, ran a hand through his hair, turned around again and looked around the room with the expression of a lost puppy.

"Damn it, Hikaru."

Hikaru was astonished at the bright tears in his brother's eyes. "Hey…"

"I'm not leaving!" Kaoru burst out. "I don't care, all right? That's what he wants me to do? Then I'm not going. I'm staying. We're going to the same school, whatever that is, we're graduating together, we're running this damn business together—"

Relief rushed through him, followed by guilt, and then by more relief. "Kaoru!" Hikaru interrupted him. Kaoru stopped, breathing hard, eyes wide and hard and glistening. "Kaoru…"

Kaoru's shoulders slumped. "What?"

Hikaru's gaze wandered to the large TV set and sound system that took up half of the apartment. "Let's play a game."

"What?" Kaoru looked up, puzzled, the wetness lingering.

Hikaru nodded towards the TV. "Let's play a video game. That cabinet's fully stocked; I checked yesterday. And call room service. I fancy some nachos."

I woke up with Hikaru's hair in my mouth. I turned my head to the side, cheek-to-cheek with him, spitting and blowing to dislodge the strands that seemed to have grown into my chin, blinking in the slants of sunlight coming through the window.

Crumbs scattered the carpet, mixed with the cases of a symphony of video games. An obscene number of empty soft drink cans were piled on the table. Sometime in the middle of the night we had dissected Hikaru's bed and the couch cushions, which were now spread around us in a nest. My arms were wrapped around Hikaru's chest. His hand rested on mine. We were missing our shirts – I dimly remembered Hikaru dousing me in Coke, and then me waving the soaked shirt around my head like a flag after beating Hikaru at Mario Kart (or had it been Dairanto Smash Brothers?)– and my pants were half-off. Hikaru was missing his entirely. I smacked my lips, grimacing at the taste of old tortilla chips and corn syrup. I wriggled out of Hikaru's limp embrace and picked up his wrist, looking at his watch (mine seemed to have disappeared along with my shirt). Twelve-thirty in the afternoon. Well.

For two solitary teenagers with no access to alcohol, we knew how to party.

Heavy metal warbled softly from within the nest. I dug through the blankets until I found Hikaru's nearly-dead phone. During the night, we'd hooked it up to the sound system. Now it merely played by itself. I stood up, pulling up my pants as I did so, and then gingerly picked my way through a landmine of sharp Dorito fragments to plug in Hikaru's phone before making my way to the bathroom. I desperately needed to shower—I felt sticky all over—and then teeth-brushing would be fantastic. I tossed one last glance out at Hikaru.

I should never have mentioned wanting to get out of the family business. Everybody thought Hikaru and I were identical twins. That wasn't true; we were conjoined. We couldn't be separated. Not without dire consequences. I might survive being forcefully separated, but Hikaru wouldn't. He wasn't ready. If I was honest with myself, I wasn't ready either. I couldn't leave him yet. If I was honest with myself, I didn't want to. But even if I did, the crippling guilt that would come with abandoning him would prevent me from ever leaving. Maybe after he and Haruhi…

He snuggled deeper into the pillows as I watched. I smiled.

Oh, if our Host Club regulars could see us now.

"G'morning Kaoru," Hikaru said as I emerged, hair dripping, still only wearing my pants (I hadn't been able to find my shirt – apparently it had disintegrated in the corn syrup). Hikaru, having the benefit of us being in his suite, was dressed in clean clothing, and happily chewing, cheeks bulging.

"Afternoon. What are you eating?" I was suddenly starving. Hikaru wordlessly pushed an open packet of Oreos toward me. I groaned.

Hikaru grinned, teeth black with cookie. "Hangover, darling?" His face didn't look as bad as I thought it might. Sure, the entirety of his cheek was red, but only a square centimeter or two were a faint purple.

I tore my gaze away. "I need real food," I said, even as I took a handful of Oreos.

Hikaru shrugged. "Eeh, there'll be some in the restaurant downstairs, but Dad's makeup artist hasn't showed, so I don't think he wants me to be seen in public."

"Because then people would know he hit you," I said in a low voice.

"Exactly," Hikaru gave me a faltering grin. "Wouldn't look good for the Hitachiin image, now would it?"

I briefly considered asking Hikaru how he was planning to deal with everybody tonight without me, but I decided against it and walked to the door instead.

"Hey! Where are you going?"

"To get dressed, idiot. And I'll find the makeup artist for you."

"Aww, thanks, Kao-chan, you're the best."

"Anything for you, Hika-chan. You'll be all pretty in no time."

"Stop, you, you're making me blush."

"I'll do more than that later."

"Kaoru! For god's sake, I'm the pitcher!"


	4. That Last Happy Day

We trod lightly around the hotel staff (I still spotted the security guards dodging around corners, watching us from a distance), slipping in and out of the hotel restaurant for a late lunch before slipping away to my room. We hung out there, doing homework, so the staff could clean Hikaru's room. Well, I did homework. Hikaru complained that I was no fun. I retorted that just because we had a week off school did not mean we had a week off of homework. He sulkily listened to his music (sans headphones; he'd forgotten them at home) as he did both of our physics homework assignments, lying next to me on his stomach. I suggested he buy new headphones. He complained it wouldn't be the same. After an hour he went back to his own room, saying he was going to check on its cleanliness status.

I worked on our literature essays for fifteen minutes longer and then wandered to the kitchen and ate a muffin I'd smuggled from the restaurant. I clicked on the TV and watched a few minutes of news, then flipped through the channels looking for something remotely interesting.

Where was Hikaru?

I went across the hall to his suite and knocked on the door.

"Hikaru?"

When he didn't reply, I dug through my pockets, found his room key (of course we'd given each other our spare room keys), and entered.

The cleaning staff had done a spectacular job. We'd have to remember to leave them a handsome tip.

"Hikaru!"

I checked every room in the suite and then stood in the middle of where our nest had been last night, feeling a twinge of abandonment. I dug through my pockets again looking for my phone, but it wasn't there. I retraced my steps to my own suite and searched the bedroom, the living area, and the kitchen before I found it on the bathroom counter. I picked it up. Three missed calls. From Hikaru. The last one was from three minutes ago, and he'd left a message.

Figures.

I pushed play.

"Kaoru! Pick up, why don't you! I swear, if you fell asleep, I'm going to kill you." I raised my eyebrows. "I only have time to say this once. Follow these instructions very carefully. Change into those blue jeans we both like, the tan short-sleeve, the black designer jacket, and wear that brown-grey-white striped scarf." I put the message on speaker and tossed it onto the bed as I obeyed. This was one of the outfits we had that matched. We were going to be identical – for whatever we were doing.

"Grab your wallet. Leave your watch. Go out your door and turn left. Go to the end of the hall and go down the stairs to the second floor. Go into that hallway. A big security guard will meet you there. He's South American. Don't speak, just follow him, and he'll take you to a staff door. You can go through there to the exit. I'll meet you outside."

Ah! I realized at last. Escape plan.

I followed his instructions. The guard led me around the corner of the hotel to a picturesque copse of pine trees. A hand darted out and yanked me inside. The pine stabbed me in the face and nearly got me in the eyes, but I started laughing. Hikaru grinned at me. I was right about us going identically; he was in the same clothes. "Excellent!"

"So I assume we're going to this festival," I said as I finished bathing in the triumph of my overly-dramatic escape from the hotel.

"Correct."

"What exactly is it?"

"No idea. Some sort of commoner thing."

"How are we getting there? Walking?"

Hikaru looked horrified. "Of course not! Fernando will be driving us."

I glanced at the security guard. "Is that Fernando?"

"Yes."

"How do you know he's not going to tell everybody where we've gone?"

Hikaru waved his hand like that was a minor detail. "Relax, he won't. He's not on duty right now. I promised him a pay bonus if he would quietly drive us out of here. He's new, so he's ignorant enough to actually not tell. Relax," he repeated at the look on my face. "He doesn't understand us." He turned to Fernando and smiled, speaking in English, "We're ready to go."

Fernando gave a small smile in return. "The car's just around the corner. Follow me." We traipsed after him, keeping to the trees as much as possible.

"How are you going to get him a bonus?" I asked.

"I gave him my watch."

"But you love that watch!"

"Yeah, well, it was a price worth paying. Besides, I can just buy another one. Fernando here can pawn that one."

We climbed into the black security van and Fernando started the drive into LA. A sense of freedom and adventure swept over us. I pressed my face to the window. Hikaru leaned over me, his chin on my shoulder again, also watching the city.

"How'd you know he'd take a bribe?" I continued the inquiries, fascinated, as usual, with Hikaru's uncanny ability to pull off tricks like this.

"He's South American."

"So?"

"So they're all involved with drugs and gangs, right? They'll all take bribes."

I choked on an aghast laugh. That was too politically incorrect, even for me. I jabbed his ribs and Hikaru jumped. "That's racist."

Hikaru laughed too. "I'm kidding, I'm kidding. I just talked to him and made friends. He's new to this business. Has a wife and three little girls. They're hard pressed for money. I offered him a bonus, he refused, and I said he could do you and me a favor to earn it."

"You're so manipulative."

Hikaru snorted. "Look who's talking, partner-in-crime."

The day went off better than Hikaru could have hoped. Fernando dropped them off before he could find a place to park, and they were swept into a swirl of languages, dust, and smoke. Bright colors draped the buildings, dogs ranged the streets, children shrieked, carousals spun. He and Kaoru dove right into the mix of it, laughing and talking to each other in Japanese, trying everything at every food stand. Hikaru made himself sick on hotdogs, Kaoru made himself sick on cotton candy. There were ethnic foods from god knew what countries, there was a fountain that he and Kaoru dove into until the police patrolling the festival chased them away. The water destroyed the style in their hair, making them more identical than ever. Soon after their arrival Kaoru stole his phone and sent cryptic drunk-text messages to Haruhi. Hikaru nearly killed him for that, but Kaoru just laughed, and Haruhi responded cheerfully enough.

Fernando was true to his word; he stayed in sight, but far off, and seemed to be enjoying himself as well.

The noise was fantastic, the food was better, and the afternoon waned.

They tormented a small Mexican-American kid by convincing him they were a single supervillain who could change places at lightning speed. Then they accidentally made him cry, so they made up for his distress by buying him ice cream, telling him they were really sent by Spider-Man to test his mettle, good for him he had passed the test, and was worthy of becoming Los Angeles' personal superhero.

As the kid strutted down the street, full of his new identity, Hikaru touched Kaoru's arm. Kaoru stopped laughing and looked at him. "Kaoru," he said softly. "I'm not planning on going back for the reception."

The consequences would be horrific. Hikaru knew it. He didn't care. But he didn't want to drag Kaoru down with him.

Kaoru just nodded, not looking at all surprised, and took Hikaru's hand. He jerked his head towards the street. "I think there's a parade starting over there. We should go get a front-row seat."

They did. It was a wide street, so they lounged against barriers on the sidewalk. Just from the glee of knowing that no one could understand them, they started insulting their fellow festival-attendees.

"What a horrible fashion sense."

"Come on, it's commoner dress, Hikaru. You can't blame them for not having the time to dress themselves properly."

"But Haruhi's a commoner and she always looks fantastic."

"You're biased."

"Seriously, though! Look! Who in their right mind thinks that plaid and polka dots go together?"

"Look, Electro at three o'clock."

"That…is actually awesome."

"What are you talking about? His hair is full of glitter."

"You should dye your hair that shade next time."

"Only if you dye your hair with pink glitter."

"Deal."

"Are you kidding?"

"C'mon, the girls'll eat it up. It'll go down as the Twins' Glitter Phase. We'll do our nails and everything. Don't look at me like that, we've done weirder."

"…Hikaru."

"What?"

"We should get to the music room early and glitterify everything."

Hikaru burst out laughing, and Kaoru joined in.

"Oh, you are so handsome!"

The twins looked to their right. A beaming woman, pressed up against the barricade by the growing crowd, held up a camera. Her thick dark hair was full of flowers; her coffee skin went with her Spanish-accented English that made her all but impossible to understand. She gestured, and Hikaru managed to make out the word, "Picture?" Hikaru swept his gaze over her less-than chic clothes and expensive camera. She was a pretty, young twenty-something; probably a photography student.

"'Course!"

Kaoru slung his arm over Hikaru's shoulders, Hikaru put his arm around Kaoru's waist, and they both made faces. The woman laughed and snapped photos. They changed positions. More photos. They gave superhero poses, rockstar poses, smiling poses, silly poses, pretending-to-choke-each-other-with-their-scarves poses until they both cracked up. Snap, snap, snap.

"Ask her if we can have those photos," Kaoru chuckled, leaning against the barricade as the woman thanked the pair of them and started aiming her camera at the police who were lining up to start the parade. Hikaru gave her their contact information. She smiled and nodded.

The crowd was pressing against them, stifling. It occurred to Hikaru that he hadn't seen Fernando in a while. Had they lost him?

"Gosh, it's hot," Kaoru fanned himself with his hand. "Why'd you make me wear this jacket for?"

"Whiner," Hikaru shoved his shoulder. "I'll go grab us s'more ice cream."

Kaoru grabbed his hand. "Hikaru?" His expression turned serious.

"What?"

"I meant what I said last night. About not leaving."

The corner of Hikaru's mouth jerked upwards. They stood there silently, watching the street, holding hands. Hikaru gave Kaoru a squeeze and let go. "I know. Save my spot." He wriggled through the crowd, fighting his way to the edge. The rest of the festival area was slightly emptier now, making it a quick walk to the nearest ice-cream vender. Hikaru purchased two towering cones, and then turned around to see a Hitachiin security guard marching down the street.

Hikaru dashed behind the vender's stall and flattened himself against the wall. He peered out after a moment. The guard walked slowly, turning his head in all directions.

We're being hunted! Are there others?

A daring grin lit up his face. Hikaru ducked behind the stall again, waiting several minutes. When he looked out again the guard had passed. Hikaru slipped out and tiptoed after him. The guard stopped. Hikaru ducked behind and overflowing trash can that stood at the entrance of an alley. He rose, stretching his neck until his eyes peeked over the top. The guard turned with a jerk.

Damn!

Hikaru shrank back down and glanced behind him. A large box, taller than he, filled with refuse and stinking filled the alley. Hikaru backed away, squeezing behind it, still clutching the ice cream cones, kicking aside empty popcorn bags and candy wrappers. He crouched down, wrinkling his nose at the smell. Why did commoners just leave their trash in boxes like this? Did they just fill them up, one by one, and leave them there to smell forever? Surely there was a better way to do it, like incineration.

It was a good call. The guard's footsteps sounded loud in the narrow passage. He stood there for a long time.

Damn it! Did he see me? What's he waiting for?

Hikaru's heart pounded loud in his ears. He held his breath.

The guard's voice. "Yes, of course I'm here." Hikaru recognized the voice. This was the same guard who had summoned them to his father's suite last night. The guard paused. Then, "Are you in position?" Silence. "What do you mean, you've lost one of them?" Hikaru shifted as his foot started to fall asleep. He grinned again, heart pounding against his ribcage. "Do you still have one in your sights at least? Well then, which one is it? You don't even know that?"

Kaoru! They could see Kaoru! Hikaru had to warn him. Hikaru looked forlornly at the melting ice cream cone towers, then glanced around. He spotted an empty plastic cup, set it on one end, and carefully balanced one of the cones in it. He told himself it was perfectly sanitary; the cone was covered in paper. Commoner ingenuity. Now, where was his phone?

"Hold on, he's calling." A pause. "Yes sir. He's lost one. I don't know. Are you sure?"

This was more like it. Excitement galore. Would they have to hide in the sewers all night?

I should be a secret agent. Nah, we should both be secret agents. Partners in espionage.

Hikaru dug through all of his pants pockets, then his jacket's, then double-checked the others, with no luck.

I'll have to tell the Boss about that one. We've never done a spy theme. The girls'd love it.

Another brief pause. "You are certain you don't know where the other one is? Very well. He says if you have a clear shot, take it."

Hikaru was so preoccupied with finding his missing phone that it took several long moments to register what the guard had just said. Hikaru's eyebrows bunched together. What?

"Yes, I know that wasn't the plan, but since you bungled the plan we're going with this one. If you hit civilians, fine, but make sure you get him."

Time slowed, and Hikaru had to suppress an urge to laugh at the absurdity. What were they going to do, tackle Kaoru? Drag him away in chains? He wasn't a criminal, for god's sake, no one had told them they couldn't leave the hotel.

"It's not your job to think. If you refuse to kill the boy, he's going to think you can't be trusted, and you'll be next."

Hikaru's mind froze.

No. No. Can't-it's not-

These were their bodyguards. These were their protection, annoying as they were. It wasn't what it sounded like—

"Right. Hikaru or Kaoru. You have two minutes."

Hikaru shivered, suddenly light-headed. He thought he might faint. His fingers were numb. The ice cream was melting. With a horrific shock Hikaru realized where his phone must be.

With Kaoru. Texting Haruhi, again.

Hikaru quivered.

They had joked about kidnapping. They had been tutored on how to react to kidnapping. What to say, what not to say, which orders to obey, which to disobey, how to react to kidnappers with guns—

Kaoru. Kaoru was going to be shot. Hikaru peeked out from behind the dumpster. He would fight his way out. He would make a break for it. He would scream bloody murder. He would—the guard—assassin?— put the phone in his pocket and left. Hikaru dropped the other cone, scrambled out from behind the dumpster and broke into a run.

He thought frantically about police, about help, about anybody. Why were the streets so damn empty? Where were the police when you needed them?

"You have two minutes."

Fear twisted cold through him, overwhelmed only by the adrenaline. He gasped, reached the edges of the crowd. The absurdity of the situation didn't matter anymore.

"Kaoru!" He shouted, shoving his way through the crowd. He tried to scream, "Murder! Police! Help!" but all foreign languages had fled from his brain and he could only shout in Japanese. People gave him disgusted looks as he shoved them, and they shoved him back. He remembered English and he shouted, but it was noisy. Too noisy. Children screaming, the parade had started, it was loud, there was a fire truck wailing its siren for their entertainment.

Fernando, he thought desperately. Perhaps Fernando would protect him—

He got closer to the barricade, saw with intense relief that Kaoru's bright hair was nowhere to be seen. Hikaru didn't even think about the fact that this meant he was in the line of fire now. He only thought, perhaps Kaoru had gotten away, perhaps Fernando had warned him, perhaps he had—

Kaoru's head popped up, grinning, and he handed something to a woman who seemed to be thanking him.

"Kaoru!" Hikaru screamed in desperation. Kaoru turned in surprise. "Kaoru, get down!"

Kaoru stared at him in confusion. With a burst of superhuman strength, Hikaru shoved his way through the last few people and collided with his brother. Kaoru staggered.

The world spun and turned upside down. Someone screamed. Hikaru didn't understand why.

They toppled over onto the pavement.


	5. Which One Are You?

My head rang. My shoulder ached. I'd hit it against the barricade. My back soaked up the heat of the pavement .The pressure of the crowd had suddenly dissipated. Screaming. What…?

My vision was dark. Hikaru. I pushed against him, pushed him off, pushed myself up. Hikaru lay across my lap. What was left of the light of day stung my eyes. My head whirled. I wavered, putting my hand against the pavement to steady myself. I put it in something wet. I blinked. My vision cleared and I looked down. Hikaru had rolled over, face up, staring up at the sky, legs sprawled across mine.

He was lying in a rapidly growing puddle of blood.

Adrenaline slammed into my gut.

"Hikaru!" I scrambled onto my knees and grabbed his shoulders. His head lolled. My hands left bloody palm-prints on his jacket. I pulled his body up, frantically searching for the injury.

Stop the bleeding, stop the bleeding…

I looked up at the crowd. "Help!" I screamed. "Somebody help!" Most ran away, but a few stood motionless a short distance away, horrified fascination in their faces. Blood squelched between my fingers behind his shoulder. I cradled HIkaru's upper body with one arm, pressing his shoulder between my palms.

HIkaru's lips moved without sound, staring up at me, eyes wide with shock.

"It's okay, Hika-chan, I've got you—hold on—" I leaned over, using my body as a shield from further harm. His lips were blue, his face gray. His uninjured arm rose from the ground and gripped my jacket sleeve, lips no longer moving in silent speech, but quivering. I felt his breath stutter in his chest as I gripped him to me. Hikaru's pupils dilated. His eyes struggled to focus. His fingers spasmed and he let go of my sleeve.

Rough hands grabbed me, pulling me upwards and back. Hikaru slipped away. I screamed, kicking back, struggling, pummeling my attacker with my fists—

It wasn't an attacker. It was a guard. Fernando. He pushed me to a building wall, shouting into a headpiece in English. I made out garbled words.

"—shot—twin—shot—need—now." He grabbed me in his arms, bear-hug like, and pulled me down the street.

"No!" I cried, trying to twist away from him.

"Are you hurt?" He shouted to me.

"Let me go!" I shrieked in a strange mixture of English and Japanese.

"Are you hurt?"

"Don't leave him—let me go—he needs me—"

A security van pulled up. Fernando shoved me inside, slamming and locking the door, and then clambered into the passenger seat up front. A woman with graying hair and sharp cheekbones floored the pedal and we shot away.

"Stop it!" I shouted. "Turn around! Take me back!" I grabbed the door handle and yanked. I would jump. I didn't care how fast we were speeding.

The door wouldn't open.

"Dear," the woman said. "Medics are with your brother. We need to get you away. Everything's going to be fine."

Everything was not going to be fine. Hikaru had been shot. I shrank back, gasping. My vision went fuzzy. I gripped the edge of the seat. My stomach roiled, full of popcorn and hot dogs and ice cream and cotton candy and mystery fried foods with no name—

Fernando turned around. "Breathe," he said in heavily accented Japanese, reaching across and covering my mouth and nose with a paper bag. I gripped it. My frantic gasping inflated and deflated the bag with loud crinkling noises. My head cleared, slightly.

"Yes?" Fernando spoke into his earpiece again with urgency. He said something else, but it was in English and I didn't understand. He looked at the woman. She glanced back at him.

"What's happened?" I dropped the bag and it floated to the floor. "Where are you going? Take me to the hospital. Now."

"We're taking you to the hotel," said the woman softly. "Security forces and police are standing by."

"Take me to the hospital!" I shouted. "Take me to my brother or I'll have both of your fired!"

"Dear," the woman said. She stopped. I was gasping too hard again, but I didn't retrieve the bag. I glared at them both.

"Take me to my brother," I repeated.

"I'm so sorry." The woman said, her eyes went back to the road. "Dear, the medics called it. Your brother is dead."

The engine purred. Buildings flashed by the tinted windows. Rosy sunlight flashed across my lap. I sat there. Fernando turned around and looked at me again. My gaze slowly fell. I looked at my hands where they squeezed the edge of the seat. They, and my pants, and even my jacket and shirt – were splashed with slowly congealing blood. My left leg had it particularly bad. So did one end of my scarf. My shoes were clean, though. I looked at my scarf. A droplet trembled on the end, and then splashed to the seat. A clot was the center of the droplet; only a little bit was truly liquid, and I watched it sprout red legs, spider-like, along the individual wrinkles of the leather.

I leaned over and vomited onto the floor.

Someone was moaning. I opened my eyes. I half-lay across the backseat of the van. My forearm pillowed my forehead. My vomit pooled on the floor. There was a lot of it. It was chunky. I could actually smell the sugar with the bile. I closed my eyes and threw up again.

A large hand at my back. Paper towels at my mouth. I shoved them away. The moaning continued.

"Dear," the woman's voice.

How long had it been? Hours, I thought. We'd been driving for hours.

A more rational piece of my subconscious told me it had only been half a minute since they had told me about Hikaru.

"Dear, what's your name?"

I opened my eyes, and the sight of my vomit made me heave again, but my stomach was empty. Only saliva came out. I spat. Sticky tears were on my cheeks, but that was from the intensity of the vomiting. I think.

"I'm sorry, this is important. I need you to answer me. We need to know. Which one are you?"

They don't know.

They don't know which one of us—

Of course not. We were identical. Our hair was lacking any sense of order. We had splashed in that fountain, like the five-year-olds who had splashed in the pond behind our house and caught that frog that we had given Auntie a fright with.

Or had we been six? Seven? How old had we been, exactly? I thought five was right, but the memory was so clear, we must have been older. I could still see it; the pond, glittering in the shadows, the preparations for the party taking place on the lawn just beyond the tree-line, Hikaru stumping through the underbrush—

"What's your name?"

The voice cruelly yanked me back to the present. My mind went fuzzy. Why was it important? They didn't know which one was which, so why did they care? A voice that I recognized as my own spoke of its own volition, high, husky, gurgling with the taste of vomit still on my tongue, full of horrible anger.

"Hikaru. I'm Hikaru."

"All right, Hikaru-kun. Try to relax. We'll get you to a secure location soon."

The rational piece of my subconscious poked the part that had made my mouth speak. Puzzled, it asked why I had lied.

"Shut up," my mouth said out loud, both to the security people and to my rational mind. So my rational mind shut up, and I didn't hear from it again for weeks.

Finally, peace and quiet. I laid my head on the seat. My cheek was sticky, or the seat was. I couldn't tell. I didn't care. I closed my eyes.

I slumped in a hard wooden chair in front of a plain wooden table, staring at the concrete wall across from me. A pile of construction materials sat jumbled in a corner. A single guard stood in the room with me at the door. Several more were stationed outside. Packages of peanuts and dried fruit and granola bars and water bottles and Pepsi cans lay scattered across the table. Everything was unopened, except a single water bottle. I'd taken a couple sips from it, just to clear the taste of sick from my mouth.

A few moments after arriving here, the guard had stepped outside to speak to his supervisor and shut the door behind him. The same part of me that had told my mouth to say my name was Hikaru realized that there was a problem with this lie. There was an obvious way I could be recognized. So I stood up, undid my belt and slid it out of the loops. It was good, supple leather. I wound it around my hand, leaving several inches on one end loose. I braced my head with my free hand, and struck myself with the end of the belt. Reflexive tears sprang into my eyes. I hit myself again just in case, then slipped my belt back on and sat back down.

Now I, too, had been backhanded.

A single nurse had come to examine me soon afterward, hurriedly, shining a light in my eye, examining a bruise on my scalp. I had a mild concussion, apparently, from hitting my head when Hikaru knocked me down, but there was nothing else the matter with me.

My clothes scratched my skin, stiff with Hikaru's blood. The nurse had insisted that I clean my hands, so I did. She had cleaned my face. I had been splattered at some point and I didn't even know. The nurse left. No one brought me clean clothes. A long time passed before they brought me food and drink. Which, again, I mostly hadn't touched. I didn't feel hungry. Or thirsty. Not worried, not bored, not upset.

I just sat there. Time may have been rocketing by, it may have frozen. I had no way of knowing. There wasn't a clock in the room. I didn't remember much about how I got here; I thought it must be the basement of the hotel.

I only moved once, when the light flickered. I glanced up at the glowing square in the ceiling. I wasn't curious whether it would go out or not; I simply watched, reacting to my surroundings on instinct like a bored animal.

Bored.

Bored.

"Ugh, I am so bored."

"Isn't there anything we can do around here?"

"We didn't have anything else to do! We were bored!" Laughter.

"This game is…getting kinda boring."

"That Suoh kid. What's his deal?"

"Think about it, Kaoru! We could play this for years and never get bored!"

I listened to the voices in my head languidly, my gaze slipping back down to the wall.

Knocking on the door. The guard cracked it open. Voices muttered. Footsteps stopped behind me.

"Master Hikaru." I didn't move. "I will escort you to your parents now." The words clanged around my skull and my sluggish brain tried to fit them together. They held no meaning. "Master Hikaru, come."

I stood and left, guided by the hand on my shoulder. We went up a concrete flight of stairs – too dangerous to use the elevator? – and walked through lush hallways. Conference room doors with fogged glass lined the walls, as did more guards. The utter silence clashed with the sparkle and the men and women in uniform.

We stopped in front of a door. My guard knocked, another one opened it. My guard nudged my shoulder and I stepped into the room. The door closed behind me.

My mother was sitting. My father was standing. They were both horribly pale. My mother gripped a crumpled handkerchief in her hand; some hair had slipped out of her updo and it hung around her face in strands. She looked at me with a trembling expression of stunned grief. I flickered my gaze away from her and to my father. His hand rested on my mother's chair. I couldn't read his expression.

"Well?" he said at last. I just looked at him. "The nurse tells me you have a concussion."

My voice was rusty from lack of water and my throat hurt from my previous screaming. My lips formed the words more than once before a whisper came out, all but inaudible.

"Yes sir."

"Do you feel well?"

"Yes sir."

"You are not otherwise hurt?"

"No sir."

I flexed the fingers of my left hand, instinctually seeking comfort, even though for the first time I didn't feel any discomfort in my father's presence. My fingers met only air. I blinked slowly in surprise. Oh. Of course. There was no one standing beside me.

A heavy, thick, stifling silence blanketed everybody. It was probably awkward, but I couldn't feel awkwardness. My father glanced down at my mother.

"Hikaru?" she whispered. I glanced at her. "I'm glad you're safe." I looked back at my father.

"Hikaru," said my father. "Answer your mother."

I looked at her again. I was distracted for a moment, trying to remember if there was another time I had seen her cry. I couldn't think of one. It took me a long time to remember what she had said. I didn't know how to respond. Luckily, my mouth took over again and responded for me, still in that barely-there whisper.

"Yes ma'am."

"Hikaru."

"Yes sir."

"The perpetrators have not been caught, but the grounds have been cleared. You will be escorted to a secure room for the night."

"Yes sir."

"We will fly out as soon as safe transportation can be arranged."

"Yes sir."

"And Hikaru?"

"Yes sir."

"I expect a full report on what you and Kaoru were doing outside of the grounds."

Well, a snarky voice inside my head answered, We were eating junk and giving children superpowers, mostly.

That voice was not in charge of my mouth, though, so I said nothing.

"Hikaru." A stern rebuke. Acknowledge my order, it meant.

"Yes sir."

"But not now. You are dismissed."

My guard took me to another room; a small thing, single bed and a bathroom, in a corner of the hotel. No windows. A terrified looking hotel maid delivered a pair of generic gray pajamas. The guard told me to change in the bathroom and to put my bloody clothes into a plastic bag. I started to obey, but after undressing I stopped. I sat on the edge of the tub, the bag open at my feet, half-full of clothes, holding the jacket in my hand. I stared at the stains along its hem for so long that the guard banged on the door, gruffly asking if I was okay.

"Yes." I put the jacket in the bag with the other things and tied it closed. Then I put on the pajamas. The guard took the bag from me when I emerged, and I felt a tiny urge to protest. He told me to lie down and go to sleep. I obeyed the first part, but it took me a long time to obey the second. I stared at the ceiling on top of the covers for a long time. I remember seeing the sky turn pink. I think I fell asleep eventually, but I'm not sure. If I did, I didn't dream. I stayed in bed after it was bright outside, just staring. Only when someone knocked on the door and gave me a clean change of clothes did I get up. They gave me food – hot food this time – and told me to eat. Technically I obeyed, but a single bite didn't do much for me.

"Can I see him?" I asked my guard once.

"I'm afraid not."

"Please let me see him." My plea sounded feeble and childlike even to my own ears.

"He's with the police now, and you need to stay here."

I asked again when we were visited by a detective. I told what I knew, which was summed up in one short sentence, and then I pleaded with her.

"I want to see him."

"I'm sorry?"

"My brother. Please let me see him."

"I'm afraid that's impossible."

"I'll wait for as long as I need to, but please. I need to see him."

"I'm sorry, it—it really is impossible."

"Please."

"He's already been cremated."

Even in my stunned state I felt startled. Not hurt, not affronted; just startled.

The guard was startled too. He pulled her to the side and a rough whispering battle ensured, of which I heard every word.

"What do you mean, the body has been cremated?"

"Just what I said. Why?"

"Who gave you the authority to do that?"

"I don't know, it wasn't my doing."

"The Hitachiins gave strict orders that he was not to be cremated yet."

"I'm sorry, you'll have to ask at the station. My job is solely to interview the witnesses."

"Have the Lord and Lady been told?"

"I'm sorry, I don't know that either. I must go now. Good day."

We left for Japan late that evening. I didn't speak to my parents, but my father looked livid the entire flight back, and he kept speaking on the phone with his lawyer.


	6. Ghost Echoes

Tamaki heard first.

And for once, he was not overdramatic.

He only left Music Room #3 because the school administration (aka his father) had asked him to come to his office. Kyoya knew as soon as this happened that something must be wrong. The fact that Tamaki left all smiles and came back looking like he was about to faint only confirmed it.

Kyoya rushed – you could almost say, bolted – away from his startled guests to his friend's side. Because even though Tamaki was full of drama, this faintness was genuine. Tamaki gripped his arm hard and whispered in his ear.

It stunned even Kyoya. Impossible. He struggled to control his face.

Keep cool. Keep calm.

"Are you sure?" he asked in the same neutral tone he used for everything. Tamaki numbly nodded. "You aren't jumping to conclusions drawn from random facts?"

"I just told you what they told me," Tamaki whispered, and Kyoya knew then that it was fact.

"Sit down," he ordered and Tamaki dropped to an empty seat. "Excuse me," Kyoya loudly addressed the room. "I'm terribly sorry, but we have to end early today. Please say your goodbyes and exit quickly and quietly."

The girls murmured to each other as they filed out of the room. Some of them started to ask questions, to inquire after Tamaki's health, but the seriousness on Kyoya's face silenced those questions before the left their mouths. Kyoya closed the door, and locked it. ("He has the key to this room?" the other hosts wondered in surprise.)

"Kyoya-senpai?" Haruhi's voice. She and Kasanoda stood behind him, the only other hosts present other than himself and Tamaki. "What's wrong?"

Tamaki hunched over in the chair, face buried in his hands. Kyoya took his hand away from the knob, slowly, and turned around. "We have just received very distressing news," he told them. "Please brace yourselves." He waited a few seconds, and then said, "A successful assassination attempt took place yesterday in the Hitachiin family. The target was Kaoru."

Haruhi took a quick step backwards, as if she'd almost lost her balance. Kasanoda steadied her with a hand on her back. Haruhi took his other hand as she wobbled again and caught herself again.

"Kaoru's dead?" Haruhi asked, but the question didn't seem to be directed at Kyoya. She stared at the floor.

Tamaki's quiet sob was answer enough. Kyoya put a hand on his shoulder, to steady himself as much as Tamaki.

"Who?" choked out Kasanoda. "Who did it?"

"I'm afraid we don't know."

"How's…" Haruhi began and didn't finish.

"The remaining Hitachiins are unhurt. They are flying back as we speak."

Haruhi let go of Kasanoda's hand. She stepped forward, walked up to Tamaki, and knelt down. "Senpai? Are you okay?"

Tamaki grabbed her hand and pulled her head to his shoulder, his own shoulders quaking. For once, Haruhi didn't protest. Her wet gasps revealed that she was crying as well. Kasanoda stood on the opposite side of Tamaki, placing a soft hand on Haruhi's head. He was not crying, but was having an obvious struggle to keep it together.

Kyoya didn't claim to have a special attachment to either one of the twins. But the absence of one, well…it would put a gaping hole in all of their relationships. And he grieved for that, at least.

We didn't go back to the house. Security reasons, we were told. They had to do background checks on all the servants first. I didn't think hotels were any safer, but it wasn't up to me. I stayed silent.

We spent a single night at a hotel that was only a mile or so away from the mansion. I slept for real this time, and when my guard woke me my mind seemed to be starting to work again.

"Here you are," he said, handing me a clean black suit as I sat on the bed, bare feet pressed against the floor. I took it.

"What's this for?"

"The wake."

I stared at it. Hikaru's funeral.

No, my funeral.

I was the one that was dead.

I almost laughed, but that would be dangerous. Laughter was dangerously close to…the other thing. I let out a huffy breath instead.

"Is it today?"

"Yes, sir. This afternoon."

"Why are you giving it to me now?"

"It's noon. The service starts in two hours."

So I showered and put the suit on. I combed my hair and stared at my face in the mirror.

Something was wrong.

Something…

Oh. My hair. It was the wrong way. I was Hikaru.

I combed it the other way and then emerged from the bathroom, fumbling with the tie. I couldn't get it right. The guard silently fixed it for me and prodded me outside the room.

A sharp ache in my stomach. Huh. I was actually hungry. Then the guard opened the door to the dining room, and my parents were there, eating. My appetite vanished as I stood unmoving in the doorway.

"Sit down, Hikaru," my father said.

My mind was awake this time. I controlled my mouth.

"Why?"

His eyes flashed, but his voice remained calm. "For eating, of course. Have a seat."

"Before the service," I said. "Shouldn't I see your makeup artist?"

My father glanced at my bruised cheek. "No need. Now sit."

Of course I didn't need a makeup artist now. I had been the victim of an attempted assassination. Nobody would know these bruises had come from my father.

I obeyed. A plate was set in front of me, steaming. At the smell my hunger came back and I ate, ignoring my parents as best I could. To my gratified surprise, they didn't say anything more to me. We ate silently, they murmured instructions to various guards and other servants that came to them with reports.

My father threw down his napkin. "It's time to go. Come, Hikaru."

I downed another glass of water before following them out of the room.

It was silent in the limousine.

We were driving to my brother's funeral in a damn limousine.

I sat as far away from my parents as I could, hands resting on my legs and looking pale against the black. I kept my head bowed, stealing a few sideways glances at my mother. She sat tapping away on her phone, hair perfect, mouth in a crooked line of concentration. Any vestiges of trauma and grief had been cleaned away.

The limo slid to a smooth stop. The door swung open.

Flash. Flash.

Light blinded my retinas.

Cameras. The media. Why? Why here? My parents stepped out. Voices babbled just beyond the door while I sat frozen in my seat.

"Master Hikaru?"

What would Hikaru do?

The question stunned me. What would Hikaru do? I knew he would want to tell them all exactly what he thought, illustrating his oratory with obscene hand gestures, but then I was always there to tell him not to do such a thing; "They'll lap it up like over-excited feral dogs." What would he do if he were by himself going to my funeral and the media presence was pissing him off?

There was no way to know.

And I, I would want to do what I was thinking about doing now – curl up in a fetal position in the corner of the vehicle. And Hikaru would say, Head up, shoulders back, ignore them if you can, give them dirty looks if you can't, and for god's sake don't say a word.

So I stepped out.

Flash. Flash.

I found the sidewalk, spotted the backs of my parents, and hurried after them.

Flash. Flash.

Thankfully, no one was asking questions, and there were Hitachiin bodyguards clearing a path.

I disobeyed Hikaru – I kept my head down. But it was easier to plow through that way, and the camera flashes didn't blind my eyes so badly.

We made it inside the venue. Large and spacious, smelling of rich velvet and oak wood. Bright colored decorations, rows of seats, and at the front –

How were they going to do this? The Americans had cremated him already. The entire ceremony would be out of order.

With guards still flanking me, I was pressed to the wall and made my way down to the front of the room. I wanted to look away from the display, but my gaze kept being drawn to it. I only stumbled three times.

It looked to be an awkward mixture of the Japanese wake and the Western memorial service. The display was ornate, but instead of a coffin there was an urn and a large framed photograph on a little table, and in front of that was the incense alter. The entire display was covered in elaborate flower arrangements and reeking.

Flash. Flash.

The media was in here too. I glanced over the crowded room before sitting down next to my mother. Important delegates, business partners, distant family – Auntie was in the row behind us. I refused to look at her – and a roped-off media section. The seating arrangements could be for a press conference. Uneasiness rooted in the pit of my stomach as I sat there, twitching, for what felt like an eternity. The room was hushed, broken only by soft murmurs. Just before the service began, a quiet whisper managed to carry through the room and reach me. An electric spark went through my arms at the sound of it. I looked over my shoulder.

I had not been mistaken.

Tamaki. And just behind him, finding seats, Mori, Honey, Kyoya, Kasanoda – Haruhi. Tamaki looked in my direction. I jerked my head back around to the front. The priest started chanting. So strange, seeing them all here. I had not seen any of them, not heard from any of them, since before we left, with the exception of Haruhi.

I had texted Haruhi with Hikaru's stolen phone no more than five minutes before he'd been shot.

I stared at the photo on the table, tuning out the words, willing myself not to think, not to hear, not to feel a thing. I let out a gasp, and felt my father's harsh glare, but I didn't look at him. I recognized the photo on the table. It was from last year's Ouran yearbook. The name on the display was my own.

But, irony of ironies, it was a photo of Hikaru.

We had switched identities that day, just to screw with the world, and to have the world's stupidity engrained forever in the yearbook. Chills went down my spine. Hikaru smirked at me, frozen in time, the wicked curve of his upper lip and eyes that shone with insults and partially-formed schemes giving away his identity.

And I was the only one who could see it.

My breath caught.

My father stood up, giving me a merciful distraction. He went to the front, glare gone, face grim and almost human. He offered incense once.

Twice.

Flash.

Three times.

My stomach roiled.

I'm going to have to go up there.

My mother slowly got to her feet and walked to the front, her pace slow. She looked unsteady.

Flash, flash, flash, flash.

I felt sick, staring at the photo. My breath dragged in my throat like skin drags along sandpaper.

I can't go up there.

My mother offered incense once, with shaking hands. She looked suddenly distraught, a magical change from the cool statue inside the limousine.

I can't go up there, Hikaru. I can't.

She offered incense again. Someone whimpered.

My throat burned. My breathing was audible now. My insides quivered.

My mother started offering once more, and then suddenly stopped. That whimper again. Then, without warning, she fell onto her knees and started to wail.

My mouth dropped open.

Flash, flash, flash, flash.

My father ran to her, dropped beside her.

Flash, flash.

The crowd murmured. I glanced to the side. Cameras flashed in my direction. Complete strangers dabbed at their eyes.

"Yuzuha," my father's voice was wrong. Soft and compassionate.

The trembling inside of my suddenly erupted to the outside. I started shaking.

It's a farce.

It was a gimmick. A media display. A thing all set to hit the front pages tomorrow if they played their cards right.

My mother finished, walking to the side, supported by my father.

I can't go up there, Hikaru. My thoughts were a plea. I was not going to be part of a disrespectful display. My father looked at me, arms around my mother. He jerked his head. It was my turn.

I can't go up there. I begged, wishing for Hikaru's pardon. I didn't expect his permission, but that was what I got.

Damn right you won't.

I won't.

I was still shaking, a low murmur had started again. People were looking at me. My father had an almost comical battle going on – trying to glare at me while still looking compassionate.

I jumped to my feet and ran.

I went down the center isle; the guards couldn't reach me quickly then. My legs were long. Hikaru and I were fast. I sped down the length of the room, caught a blurred glimpse of Tamaki's upturned face, and burst through the doors on the end, leaving the whole mess behind me.

There were shouts of surprise; there was more security here, but they were hampered by the stunned caterers of the event who scrambled out of my charging way. I raced up a flight of stairs, wound around corners, forced my way into a random room, and shut the door. I stood there breathing hard for a good minute before I turned around.

Little more than a large storage closet, the small room held two bookshelves, a plastic table with its legs folded up leaning against the wall (I'd seen one on a commoner's shopping trip with Haruhi), a few mismatched chairs, and thick dusty curtains hanging over a single window. I pressed my back against the wall next to the door and slid to the ground.

"Hikaru?"

I jumped. Haruhi's voice came from beyond the door.

"Hikaru, I know you're in there. Let me in."

She doesn't know. Horror seeped through my limbs. Oh my god, she doesn't know.

What had I done? Hikaru was dead and Haruhi didn't know.

"If you don't open this door I'm forcing my way in and there are security guards coming."

I stood up and opened the door, light splashing into the room, keeping my eyes averted from her face as she stepped in. I closed it again.

"How'd you—" I began.

"You were upset and I thought you might run, so I left a minute before you did and followed you." She peered up into my face. "Hikaru, are you—" She stopped. The security guards' footsteps passed outside. I swallowed and risked a glance down at her. An expression I'd never seen before was frozen on her face. Shock, horror, grief, confusion—vulnerability. I shuddered. Stoic Haruhi looked vulnerable. Her lips barely moved as she spoke in a horse whisper. "Kaoru?"

I turned my back on her and covered my face with one hand.

"Kaoru, what are you doing?"

"Hikaru's gone," I said. "It's me."

Still in that hoarse whisper. "Why? Who knows? Did your parents—"

"No one knows," I said. "Just you."

She cleared her throat, accusatory and shaky. "Why?"

Why, indeed? I didn't know, so I didn't answer.

"This is wrong. You should have told me."

I hunched my shoulders. "Sorry."

"You're sorry? You're sorry?" Haruhi's anger buffeted against my back. I hunched my shoulders. "You know you can't keep doing this, right, Kaoru?"

"Why not?" I turned around again, answering her anger with a glare. "You can't tell."

"I'm not going to tell, Kaoru," her eyes flashed. "Except for our friends. It's your business. But you should."

"You can tell the others," I said. The Host Club. "That's it."

We stared at each other for an uncomfortably long time. A distant murmur of voices was evidence of the quiet chaos I must have caused by running out. Someone passed by our door again. Haruhi's face twisted and straightened.

"I—" she coughed. "I'm glad you're—but—" her calm voice broke. "I'm sorry—I can't—" then her calm face broke. She fumbled with the doorknob, yanked it open, and fled.

My father's face was stone. His hand clamped around my forearm, his fingertips digging into my flash.

Flash, flash.

"Hikaru, what's going through your mind?"

"Was the emotional turmoil too much?"

"Why did you run out?"

"Is it true that Kaoru Hitachiin's body was cremated without your family's permission?"

We reached the limo. I stopped. My father yanked on my arm. I turned to look at the cameras.

Flash, flash, flash.

"Hikaru. Get. In. the. Car."

The flood of questions stopped. I saw microphones held up. The pain in my arm was growing.

I wasn't afraid.

I looked them all in the eye, held up a carefully selected finger, and spoke, calm and loud: "Go to hell."

Far from looking insulted, the reporters looked delighted. Flash. Only then did I turn and get into the vehicle. My father's rage burned silently, and I wondered what he was going to do to me when we got home. I didn't care. My comment to the press had not been for the press's benefit.

For five straight minutes, I didn't even bother listening to my father. There were no recognizable sentences that I could make out; it was a long string of curse words. I stood there with my hands in my pockets, staring straight ahead while he paced and railed.

"—any idea? The embarrassment – your mother – insensitive – disrespectful of your brother—"

I jerked out of my mind-fog. "Disrespect?" I said. He didn't hear me.

"—utterly shameful—"

"Shameful?" I said, louder. He paused, lips pulled back in what could be called a snarl, eyebrows lifting at my audacity. "You think I was disrespectful? What was the media doing there?"

His hacking laugh sounded like a cat coughing up a furball. "We are an influential family, and it's only decent that we—"

"Decent?" I interrupted again. "That display? The melodramatic tears? Where did she scrounge them up, I wonder?" Eyedrops, Hikaru suggested. "Eyedrops?" I echoed.

My father's mouth dropped open. "How – DARE you!" he roared. "Yuzuha is your mother, she is distraught, and you dare to suggest—"

"Oh, right," I said. "Distraught." I tilted my head thoughtfully. "She cares about us. That must be why we were raised by servants. That must be why we only ever saw you at mealtimes, if we were lucky. That must be why you disappeared for months on end for world tours without telling us."

"HIKARU."

"That must be why she only ever speaks to us at family gatherings. That must be why she and Auntie joke about aborting us."

"Be silent!"

"It's because she cares about us. It all makes so much sense now."

My father leaped across the room, grabbed the front of my shirt, swung me around and slammed me against the wall. I choked, the breath knocked out of me. Murder glowed in my father's eyes. He held my shirt in both of his hands as he loomed over me face inches away from mine. I couldn't breathe, but it was strangely satisfying to look calmly back at him.

"What are you smiling about, boy?" he hissed. Was I smiling? Apparently so. "Consider yourself under house arrest," he whispered, his warm breath buffeting my face. "Until you get control over yourself."

I managed to inhale some air. My father's breath was minty. "What about school?"

"You will be tutored and given your exams here." One of my father's hands let go of my shirt. He pressed his other arm against my chest and leaned against it, pushing my air back out of my lungs again. His free hand gripped my limp wrist. His thumb and forefinger dug in. Pain arched from my palm to my elbow. My eyes widened, and it was my father's turn to smile. "I am warning you this one time, Hikaru." The pain grew and I squirmed. I tried to pull my arm back, but that made it worse. I sucked in air as stars swam across my vision. "Do not cross me, you utterly disgusting, useless excuse for a Hitachiin."

He let me go so quickly that I slumped against the wall and fell to the ground. He turned and left the room.

Bastard, I thought.

Bastard, Hikaru said at the same time.

I cradled my arm as cool relief from the pain spread across it. I pulled back my sleeve and looked for injuries. There were bruises on my forearm from where he had forced me into the limousine, but there were no other visible injuries. Brilliant. I stood up, taking deep breaths to restore oxygen to my body, and peeked out of the room. He was long gone. I tiptoed out into the hall and made for the stairs.

Well, no school. I wasn't sure how I felt about that. At least I wouldn't have to face whispers and the Host Club, but being trapped in the house didn't appeal to me either.

Well done, Hikaru whined. Now we won't get to see Haruhi.

Haruhi's mad at me, remember? And what do you mean, 'we'? You're dead.

Dude. Hikaru huffed. That's insensitive.

I slowed as I reached the door of Hikaru's room. My father had pulled me into the parlor as soon as we had gone inside the house. This would be my first time entering since…everything. I went inside, shut the door, and leaned against it.

The curtains were drawn, and it looked as though the maids had taken advantage of our absence to do some deep cleaning. Faint scents of bleach, polish, and other perfumes mingled with the regular smells of electronics, schoolbooks, sarcasm, and Hikaru.

I wondered briefly what my room looked like. If it was still my room at all, now that I was dead.

It didn't matter. We both lived in this one.

I slowly crossed the room to Hikaru's desk. The half-done hastily-scrawled first draft of an English paper that was due last week sat there, underneath Hikaru's headphones. They were plugged into his iPod, which was plugged into the wall, forgotten in the rush to catch our early-morning flight. I picked them up, put them over my ears, and went to the perfectly unwrinkled bed and lay down on my back. I turned on the iPod. It was paused in the middle of a song. I pushed play.

Screaming and drums and electric guitar burst across my eardrums so hard and deafening that I saw the vibrations in the air above my face.

I stared at the ceiling. The light in the covered window turned to sunset colors. At one point my eyes closed. I may have fallen asleep, but I doubt it. When I opened them again the room was dark. I finally sat up and pushed the headphones down so that they encircled my neck. My ears rang, and at first I didn't hear the knocking. I blinked, rubbed my ears to make sure they weren't making things up, and then I got up an answered the door.

A tall, black-haired maid stood there, holding an item in her outstretched palm. I blinked at her, distracted by the red curve of her mouth, she silky sheen in her hair, and how strangely attractive the black and white uniform was on her body. I'd seen her before, Hikaru and I had both noticed her, in a casual way (she was much older than us), but only from a distance. She'd never been this close to me before.

Her dark eyes went to my neck and I flushed before I realized she was looking at the headphones. The music was still screeching.

"I'm sorry for disturbing you," she said. Her voice was low and smooth, like dark chocolate. "But I thought you might like to have this."

I looked down at her palm. In it was nestled Hikaru's light blue cell phone. I stared at it for a long moment before reaching out and grabbing it. Her fingers were soft. I pulled back, staring at the phone.

"Thank you."

"Is there anything else I can do?"

I looked up at her, surprised. She didn't look sympathetic or sorry for me in any way, but I got the sense that she was genuinely asking if I needed anything, not simply asking if she could leave.

A thousand requests flooded into my mind and I faltered. Nobody had asked me if they could do anything for me; not really. "The other one," I said. "I mean, Kaoru's phone. Could you – are they – can you bring me that one?"

"I can try."

Encouraged, another request slipped out of my mouth. "And my clothes."

"I'm sorry?"

"The clothes I was wearing. The day of the attack. I would like them back."

Her left eyebrow arched. "I'm not sure," she said slowly. "I don't know if they're still – I don't know if we have them still."

"But you'll look?"

"Of course."

"Thank you," I repeated. She nodded. I stared at her awkwardly for a few more seconds before I backed into the room and closed the door. I retreated to Hikaru's bed and sat down, cradling the phone in my hand like it was a sacred object, just tracing my fingers over the scuffmarks and paint chips. We had been due for new phones when Hikaru died. I flipped on the desk lamp and then flipped open the phone, punching in the pin number (we knew each other's pin numbers, of course).

There was a flood of messages and calls. None of them registered as new, though. The police must have dug through them. I felt a surge of anger on Hikaru's behalf from the invasion of privacy. I didn't want to listen to the voicemails; voices, they were too personal. With a morbid sort of fascination, I scrolled through Hikaru's messages instead.

There were a few from me, but we didn't text much (mostly because we were almost always in the same room), unless it was during class. Sometimes our phones were taken from us when we did this, and then we threw notes over Haruhi's head, much to her irritation. But that only made it more fun.

I hovered my finger over Haruhi's name. Of all the things we told each other, Hikaru didn't tell me everything about Haruhi. He told me a lot, but not everything. So normally I wouldn't hesitate to snoop through his messages, because I would already know everything contained in them anyway.

But he wasn't here to tell me anymore.

I hesitated only a moment before tapping the thread.

[Sent April 2, 3:03]

 **Moi:** ahahahahahaha hey haruhi

[Sent 3:07]

 **Moi:** haruhi

[Sent 3:10]

 **Moi:** hey

Haruhi

[Sent 3:13]

 **Moi:** HARUHI

HARUHI GUESS WHAT

HEY

HARUHI

[Received 3:16]

 **Haruhi:** What?

[Sent 3:17]

 **Moi:** I am so high right now hahahahahahahaha :D

[Received 3:19]

 **Haruhi:** What?

[Sent 3:19]

 **Moi:** AMERICA IS AWESOME 8DDDDD

GOD BLESS THE COMMONERS

[Received 3:19]

 **Haruhi:** Are you okay?

[Sent 3:19]

 **Moi:** I AM SO HIGH HARUHI

[Received 3:20]

 **Haruhi:** Please tell me you're kidding.

[Sent 3:20]

 **Moi:** HIGH

ON

CANDAAAAAAY

[Received 3:22]

 **Haruhi:** Are you telling me you have a sugar high.

[Sent 3:23]

 **Moi:** WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

[Received 3:23]

 **Haruhi:** Oh my god, Hikaru.

[Sent 3:24]

 **Moi:** fjd3l &i

[Sent 3:25]

 **Moi:** 3ee89dfs17#FES3j

GOD HARUHI I'M SORRY THAT WAS KAORU

[Received 3:26]

 **Haruhi:** Hahahaha it all makes sense now.

[Sent 3:26]

 **Moi:** You don't think I'd text you something like that do you?

[Received 3:26]

 **Haruhi:** Actually it sounds exactly like something you'd do.

[Sent 3:26]

 **Moi:** That hurts. My jokes are much better than that.

[Received 3:27]

 **Haruhi:** Dream on. Kaoru can imitate you perfectly in real life, of course he can over text.

[Sent 5:31]

 **Moi:** HEY. HARUHI.

[Received 5:35]

 **Haruhi:** Kaoru if you keep texting me I'm going to ask Kyoya-senpei to have you deported.

[Received April 23rd, 4:07]

 **Haruhi:** Hikaru, I just heard. I'm so, so sorry.

[Received 4:10]

 **Haruhi:** I know you might not want to talk and that's fine.

[Received 4:11]

 **Haruhi:** I want you to know I'm here though. For anything. If you want to talk, or a place to get away. Anything at all. I will drop whatever I'm doing and help you, I promise.

[Received 4:30]

 **Haruhi:** Please tell me you're ok Hikaru.

[Received 4:50]

 **Haruhi:** Please don't do anything stupid.

[Received 4:55]

 **Haruhi:** I'm here.

I closed the messages and got on Facebook, scrolling without thinking. I watched a cat video without seeing it, read a political rant from some obscure relative without comprehending a word, and watched highlights from a badminton tournament. Not because I had any particular interest in badminton, but just because it was there.

Oh look. I was trending. That is, Hikaru was trending. I debated for a long time looking at the thread, and eventually curiosity got the better of me. Typical social-media fashion, it was mostly outrage over "cultural insensitivity" (that'd be the cremation business) and calling for the immediate dismissal of the police chief responsible (except nobody seemed to know who that actually was). There were a few comments about what actually mattered – who was responsible for the murder (nobody knew).

A knock on the door. I closed Facebook and answered it. The maid was standing there, Kaoru's phone—my phone—nestled on top of folded laundry. I took it.

"If it's all right with you, sir, please don't tell anyone I brought this to you."

Was she going to get in trouble? Was I not supposed to have these? How had she…? "Of course I won't," I said. "Thanks."

"Of course." She turned to go.

"I mean it," I said quickly and she glanced back at me. "Thank you." I wanted to say, 'You're the only person who's bothered to be kind,' but I couldn't get the words out. Instead, concerned about her job security, and wanting to thank her, I pulled out my wallet.

"I don't want your money," she said.

I blushed, and put it away. "Sorry, I didn't mean…uh…"

"Not at all." Her upper lip curved slightly. She looked amused.

"'bye then," I blurted, retreating once again into our room. I sat down on the bed again, put my phone to the side, and stared at the clothes. They smelled of detergent, but…

I unfolded the jacket, then the shirt, then the jeans, then the scarf, laying them across my lap and the bedspread. I touched each article of clothing, running my fingers across the splattered bloodstains. These perhaps should be burned too. I was surprised that they hadn't been already. I didn't think I would.

I shoved the clothes to the side and examined my phone. It, too, had been tampered with, but there were recent unplayed messages from a few hours ago. I set it to play all of the saved and unsaved messages and lay down on my bed, listening to the first few seconds of each one before deleting it.

Honey. "Kao-chan, Haruhi's mad but I'm not I understand that you—"

Tamaki, surprisingly subdued. "Hi Kaoru, just wanted to say that we all miss you here, and if—" a tell-tale quiver.

Kyoya. "What you are doing is childish, Kaoru, but whenever you return to school the Host Club could use you back as either Hikaru or Kaoru—"

Haruhi. "Kaoru, I'm sorry I reacted so strongly. I know you're going through a hard time."

That was the entirety of the message. Delete.

That was the last of the new ones. Those idiots, didn't they realize I needed them to treat me like Hikaru or my cover was blown? What if the police had heard these?

It started on saved messages, including weird American accents that called me by accident, a sales call, Haruhi telling me a homework assignment, and—

"Kaoru! Pick up, why don't you! I swear, if you fell asleep, I'm going to kill you."

I stopped breathing. Then I sat up with a jerk, snapped the phone shut, and threw it away from me. It bounced off the wall and landed unharmed.

My breathing came quick and fast. I forced it to slow down. I took deep, measured gulps. I placed my cold fingers over my eyes. I took ahold of myself before I let my fingers down and opened my eyes again. I retrieved my phone, turned it off, dumped it in the middle of the bloodstained clothes, wadded them into a ball, and shoved it in the corner of the bottom dresser drawer. I stared at the wad.

Couldn't be too careful.

Something had cracked there. Something had nearly broken.

I couldn't afford to let it break.

Without thinking, I withdrew a different article of clothing. It was Hikaru's favorite blue tank top, the one he almost always wore when we weren't being identical. I slid the drawer shut with my foot and climbed into bed. I put the top to my face, covering my nose and mouth like a medical mask, and breathed in. I turned over on my side in the too-large, too-empty bed, and curled into the fetal position, one hand tucked under my chin, the other pressing the material to my nose and mouth. I thought about several things. One, I had forgotten about dinner. Two, I hadn't showered, brushed my teeth, or changed or undressed. Three, I hadn't turned out the lamp. Four, I didn't have the energy to do any of those things.

The fifth thought was much more invasive, and it made me curl up tighter and forced me to fight to keep breathing.

This would be my first time sleeping in this bed without Hikaru.


End file.
